Growing up, the Japanese maple in my yard was designated as "the little kid's tree". The low branching pattern made this particular tree easy for even small people to climb. Chubby hands could grasp the thick bottom branch. With a hop and a heave, I was up, up, up, twelve full inches off the ground and into a world of my own.

I could be a princess in a castle or a firefighter on a ladder, or - if I brought a banana - Curious George.  The change in elevation made anything possible. It felt like my  personal tree. My older sister had her fort in a huge lumpy buttonwood, accessed by climbing a thick,  knotted rope. I wondered what it was like to be big enough to get up there.

My maple had beautiful, delicately fringed red leaves, much like the ones in the photo. These leaves became lace on my imaginary princess gown. Flames to douse in my imaginary fire. I collected many to bring inside for my mom to iron between sheets of waxed paper and tape to the window.

Japanese maples grow very slowly. I have one in my garden.  For now, it is a magic umbrella-shaped house, perfect for small ones to huddle under and enter into their own imaginary world.